There was a knock at the door.

Rachel, who was diligently stoking the fire at the time, dropped the poker on her foot and fell back, landing on the hard cobblestone floor. From somewhere in the kitchen she heard a shriek. Someone dropped a bowl. The baby started crying.

This may seem a strange reaction to a knock, but nobody knocked in Bresher village. In a small village like that, where everyone knew everyone else, where windows were shabby holes in the walls and the ceiling made of hay, only one kind of person knocked. And that was no person at all.

That was a vampire.

“Well, who’s going to get it?” said the father, brandishing a frying pan.

“They can let themselves in,” said the mother.

“Unless…” said the youngest sister. “Unless they can’t.”

It was common knowledge that vampires could not enter a home without an invitation. This helped identify the fiends, but it did little to deter them. Houses could be burnt. Or arrows shot through the windows. Or for clever and patient vampires, waiting was always an option. They were immortal. They could wait.

There were three more knocks, louder and more deliberate this time.

“Go answer the door,” said the mother.

“Maybe they’ll go away,” said the father, hopeful.

“Or maybe they’re friendly,” said the eldest son, less hopeful.

“Forget it, I’ll see who it is,” said Rachel, already at the door, her hand grasping the handle. She could feel a chill emanating through the metal, trickling into her palm. And she could see the stranger's shadow leaking under the door.

It was no ordinary shadow. She could tell the difference comparing it to her own - while hers was light and blobby, this shadow was so pitch black she could not see through it. It hid the cobblestones underneath. And it contained so many clear shapes. She saw hands and tentacles, chains and wings, smoke billowing out of chimneys, the outlines of buildings, and in the midst of it all, the faint outline of a man.

She closed her eyes and opened the door.

“May I come in?” asked a heavy voice.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a man in black robes. He was handsome, wearing a hooded robe, and most certainly a vampire. His hair was black and slicked back. His skin was pale. And his teeth ended in fine points.

He was not just a vampire. He was the vampire. He was what a child imagined in bed at night, struggling to fall asleep from fear of being bitten.

“May I come in?” he repeated, patiently.

“Do bunnies hop?” asked Rachel.

The vampire raised an eyebrow. He had asked this question many times before, and received many different answers from many different people. He had been told “yes,” “but of course,” “yes, but please don’t kill me,” and even “why dontcha turn into a bat and fly up your own arse.” Always a clear answer, one way or another. But he had never heard this before. No one had ever answered his question with a question.

“Aren't you going to come in?” asked Rachel.

The vampire hesitated, seeming unsure if he could in fact “come in” now. Rachel was unsure herself - did rhetorical questions count as answers? She did not know, but she was curious to find out.

And so was the vampire, apparently, slowly approaching the door, bracing himself for whatever ill effects would come of this experiment.

“Interesting,” he said. “Curiosity is a rare sensation for someone who’s seen everything thousands of times. Very well, let’s try this.” He breathed in deep and cautiously stretched a leg over the threshold of the door…

And it immediately burst into flames.

“I’m sorry, but could you?” he asked, his body now wreathed in fire.

“Oh, yes, please, come in!” said Rachel. As soon as she said this, the fire vanished. If she hadn’t invited him in, he would have survived anyways, and then he’d be sure to exact his revenge. But that wasn’t her thought process. She had simply seen a man on fire and her human instincts kicked in. If only she could remember: he wasn’t human, he was simply good at pretending.

“So, what’s for dinner?” asked the vampire, gliding into the kitchen.

“What? Is that supposed to be a clever set up?” asked Rachel. “Is the twist that we're for dinner?”

“Not unless you're cannibals,” said the vampire, the corner of his mouth twitching. Was this his attempt at a smile?

“Was that a joke?” asked Rachel. “I thought vampires didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t tell jokes. They’re just not very good ones.”

“I’ll say.”

Again, the edge of the vampire's mouth twitched.

He ate more carefully than Rachel had expected, given the way vampires normally ate. She had seen how they feed, and there was always a great deal spilling and bleeding, flailing and dragging, and ultimately, after the struggle, silence. But never the peaceful kind. The messy, splattered all over the walls kind of silent, the kind that kept ringing in her ears always.

But this vampire carefully sliced apart his dinner with a set of silverware from his robe. He was also a very polite guest, dabbing his chin with his napkin, never chewing with his mouth open, and making small talk - “A fine meal you made. The potatoes are an excellent choice,” or “You have a fine family here. Beautiful children, all.”

Rachel could not tell if the vampire was trying to calm her family down, or if he was deliberately torturing them, but either way, she could not stand to see them like this. She was pretty sure that her eldest brother had just vomited out of fear, only to swallow it again, as he was directly facing the vampire. Puking on a vampire - that was a death sentence for sure.

“Do you always talk to your victims?” Rachel finally asked. Her family glared at her, all pale and slick with sweat. Then they all turned to face the vampire.

He held up a finger, as he waited to finish chewing his food.

“I didn’t use to,” he said. “It takes the shine of your meal, knowing your victim. Vampires can feel remorse, you see. One of our many design flaws.” There was a cup of ale before him, which had gone untouched throughout the meal. He grabbed it and drank it all without once setting the cup down.

“What changed?” asked Rachel.

“Well, one day…” continued the vampire, still gripping the cup. “I drained a farmer of his blood. I didn’t think much of it at first. In fact, calling him a farmer is rather generous. He had a small patch of the ugliest potatoes I’d ever seen, hardly fit to eat, and his farm was nothing more than a small shack. But then it started to rain, so I took shelter in the shack, and I found something there…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw her brother cutting his dinner, transfixed by the vampire and the possibility of death. He was paying no mind to his fingers, not until the knife jammed into the tip of his pinky, releasing a spray of blood onto the table. Some splattered onto the vampire’s meal.

The vampire seemed to vanish instantly, then reappeared over her brother, the edges of his cloak slowly falling down around them, like a curtain after the final act. It all happened so fast that no one was able to react.

No one except for Rachel, who grabbed her fork and ran across the table, scattering plates and untouched dinners. She struck at the Vampire’s neck, but he managed to grab her wrist without looking, throwing her back with great force. She landed against the wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

Her vision was blurred, but she could still make out the vampire hovering over her brother, leaning in closer. She was not sure how, but she could tell the vampire was conjuring his power. She could make out a dark, bubbling substance around him, like a mix of fire and blood, swelling and encircling her brother.

“Eat me,” said Rachel, coughing, struggling to push out the words. “That should be more than enough to fill you, right?”

This time the Vampire’s mouth did not simply twitch, but broke out into a full smile. “I’m sorry for pushing you so hard,” he said. “My mistake.” He flicked his wrist, then walked away, her brother’s neck still perfectly intact.

In fact, his finger was now fine as well, a faint scar melting away until the skin was smooth and unbroken. The vampire flicked his wrist again, and suddenly Rachel’s vision cleared, the soreness in her joints melting away.

“Did you think I was about to eat your brother?” asked the vampire.

“Well, blood causes your kind to lose their minds,” said Rachel.

The vampire chuckled to himself. “That may be true for the weaker ones, perhaps, but that’s rather offensive, isn’t it. Do humans lose their minds when somebody leaves out a delicious pie?”

“Sometimes,” said Rachel.

She caught herself smiling, but quickly suppressed it. Meanwhile, the vampire nodded and put a golden coin on the table. “Thank you for the meal,” he said. “It was delicious.” He turned to Rachel, whose expression had softened. The fact that he had paid them meant he probably had no intention of killing them, not unless his sense of humor was particularly cruel. “I especially enjoyed talking to you,” he continued, looking at Rachel. “It’s been quite a while since anyone ever spoke to me. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Rachel,” said Rachel, figuring the vampire would have ways of knowing if she lied.

“That’s a good name,” he said, approaching her and extending a hand to help her up. “I am Niero. It is a pleasure to meet you.”